LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


HENRY  C 

AND 

Dumber  10j 

LIBRARY   OF 

KATHARINE  A.  FALL 

Jj. 

Date  of  Pure 
Place  % 

•hose    JuJu  .f   W 

y                i)  1  /  • 
f  fftTltOLjbo  i/t  - 

Cost 

f 

^.-r*. 


i,'-r     \ 
*J2f^ 


(     f 


fflETRAIL  O 


ERN 


1  The  Track  of  a  Mother  Blacktail  was  suddenly 
joined  by  two  Little  Ones'  Tracks." 


THETRAIL  OFTHESANDH11LSTAG 


AND      OO      DRAWINGS 


ERNEST  THOMPSON  SETON 

Naturalist  to  the  Government  of  Manitoba 


Author  of 

Wild  Animals  I  Have  Known 

Art  Anatomy  of  Animals 

Mammals  of  Manitoba 

Birds  of  Manitoba 


Published  by 


New  York  City  A.D.  1901 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


Copyright,  1899,  by 

emcst  Scton-Chompson 


first 

Xrnpresaion 

October 

12 

1899 

Second 

Xmpressioti 

February 

16 

1900 

Cbird 

Xrnprcssfon 

December 


fourth 
Xrnpression 


16 
1901 


THE  DEVINNE  PRESS. 


Booh  id  dedicated  to  the  Old- 
timers  of  the  Big  plain  of  Manitoba. 


2051910 


Co  the  Reader: 

f *  Cbese  are  the  beat  days  of  my  life* 
Chese  are  my  golden  days*    * 


In  this  Booh  the  designs  for  title-page, 
cover,  and  general  make-up,  and  also 
the  literary  revision,  were  done  by 
Mrs.  Grace  Gallatin  Scton-€bompaon. 


List  of 
full-page  Drawings 


«Che  Crack  of  a  Mother  Blacktail 
was  suddenly  joined  by  two  Lit- 
tle Ones' Cracks  " frontfepfett 

Che  Crail  Spring page  14 

"Wingless  Birds " 22 

44  Sat  down  in  the  Moonlit  Snow  "  ...     37 

"Seven  Deer,  .  .  .  their  Leader  a  wonderful 
Buck" 56 

"Che  Doe  was  walking  slowly"  ....  63 
44  Scanned  the  Olhite  Olorld  for  his  foe".  80 
Che  Stag 89 


i 

1 

I 


I 


was  a  burning  hot 
day.  Yan  was  wan- 
dering in  pursuit  of 
birds  among  the  end- 
less groves  and  glades 
of  the  Sandhill  wilderness  about  Car- 
berry*  The  water  in  the  numer- 
ous marshy  ponds  was  warm  with 
the  sun  heat,  so  Yan  cut  across  to 
the  trail  spring,  the  only  place  in  the 
country  where  he  might  find  a  cool- 
ing drink.  As  he  stooped  beside  it 
his  eye  fell  on  a  small  hoof-mark  in 
the  mud,  a  sharp  and  elegant  track. 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SANDHILL  STAG 


He  had  never  seen  one  like  it  before, 
but  it  gave  him  a  thrill,  for  he  knew 
at  once  it  was  the  track  of  a  wild  deer. 
44  There  are  no  deer  in  those  hills 
now/'  the  settlers  told  Yan.  Yet 
when  the  first  snow  came  that  au- 
tumn he,  remembering  the  hoof- 
mark  in  the  mud,  quietly  took 
down  his  rifle  and  said  to  himself, 
44 1  am  going  into  the  hills  every  day 
till  I  bring  out  a  deer,"  Yan  was  a 
tall,  raw  lad  in  the  last  of  his  teens. 
He  was  no  hunter  yet,  but  he  was  a 
tireless  runner,  and  filled  with  unflag- 
ging zeal  Away  to  the  hills  he 
went  on  his  quest  day  after  day,  and 
many  a  score  of  long  white  miles  he 
coursed,  and  night  after  night  he  re- 
turned to  the  shanty  without  seeing 

16 


even  a  track.  But  the  longest  chase 
will  end*  On  a  far,  hard  trip  in  the 
southern  hills  he  came  at  last  on  the 
trail  of  a  deer — dim  and  stale,  but 
still  a  deer-trail  —  and  again  he  felt 
a  thrill  as  the  thought  came,  "At 
the  other  end  of  that  line  of  dimples 
in  the  snow  is  the  creature  that  made 
them ;  each  one  is  fresher  than  the 
last,  and  it  is  only  a  question  of 
time  for  me  to  come  up  with  their 
maker/' 

At  first  Yan  could  not  tell  by  the 
dim  track  which  way  the  animal 
had  gone*  But  he  soon  found  that 
the  mark  was  a  little  sharper  at  one 
end,  and  rightly  guessed  that  that 
was  the  toe ;  also  he  noticed  that  the 

spaces  shortened  in  going  up  hill, 
17 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE    SANDHILL  STAG 


T 


and  at  last  a  clear  imprint  in  a  sandy 
place  ended  all  doubt.  Away  he 
went  with  a  new  fire  in  his  blood, 
and  an  odd  prickling  in  his  hair; 
away  on  a  long,  hard  follow  through 
interminable  woods  and  hills,  with 
the  trail  growing  fresher  as  he  flew* 
All  day  he  followed,  and  toward 
night  it  turned  and  led  him  home- 
ward* On  it  went,  soon  over  famil- 
iar ground,  back  to  the  sawmill, 
then  over  Mitchell's  Plain,  and  at 
last  into  the  thick  poplar  woods 
near  by,  where  Yan  left  it  when  it 
was  too  dark  to  follow*  He  was 
only  seven  miles  from  home,  and 
this  he  easily  trotted  in  an  hour* 

In  the  morning  he  was  back  to 
take  it  up,  but  instead  of  an  old 


18 


track,  there  were  now  so  many  fresh 
ones,  crossing  and  winding,  that 
he  could  not  follow  at  all.  So  he 
prowled  along  haphazard,  until  he 
found  two  tracks  so  new  that  he 
could  easily  trail  them  as  before, 
and  he  eagerly  gave  chase.  As  he 
sneaked  along  watching  the  tracks 
at  his  feet  instead  of  the  woods  ahead, 
he  was  startled  by  two  big-eared, 
grayish  animals  springing  from  a 
little  glade  into  which  he  had  stum- 
bled. They  trotted  to  a  bank  fifty 
yards  away  and  then  turned  to  gaze 
at  him. 

How  they  did  seem  to  look  with 
their  great  earsl    How  they  spell- 
bound him  by  the  soft  gaze  that  he 
felt  rather  than  saw!  He  knew  what 
19 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE   SANDHILL  STAG 


they  were*  Had  he  not  for  weeks 
been  holding  ready,  preparing  and 
hungering  for  this  very  sight !  And 
yet  how  useless  were  his  prepara- 
tions; how  wholly  all  his  precon- 
cepts  were  swept  away,  and  a  won- 
der-stricken 

"Oh-h-h!"  went  softly  from  his 
throat* 

As  he  stood  and  gazed,  they  turned 
their  heads  away,  though  they  still 
seemed  to  look  at  him  with  their 
great  ears,  and  trotting  a  few  steps 
to  a  smoother  place,  began  to  bound 
up  and  down  in  a  sort  of  play*  They 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  him,  and 
it  was  bewildering  to  see  the  won- 
derful effortless  way  in  which,  by  a 
tiny  toe-touch,  they  would  rise  six 


20 


"Wingless  Birds/7 


or  eight  feet  in  air.  Yan  stood  fas- 
cinated by  the  strange  play  of  the 
light-limbed,  gray-furred  creatures* 
There  was  no  haste  or  alarm  in 
their  movements;  he  would  watch 
them  until  they  began  to  run  away — 
till  they  should  take  fright  and  begin 
the  labored  straining,  the  vast  ath- 
letic bounds,  he  had  heard  of.  And  it 
was  only  on  noting  that  they  were 
rapidly  fading  into  the  distance  that 
he  realized  that  now  they  were  run- 
ning away,  already  were  flying  for 
safety. 

Higher  and  higher  they  rose  each 
time ;  gracefully  their  bodies  swayed 
inward  as  they  curved  along  some 
bold  ridge,  or  for  a  long  space  the 

buff- white  scutcheons  that  they  bore 
23 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE    SANDHILL  STAG 


behind  them  seemed  hanging  in  the 
air  while  these  wingless  birds  were 
really  sailing  over  some  deep  gully* 

Yan  stood  intensely  gazing  until 
they  were  out  of  sight,  and  it  never 
once  occurred  to  him  to  shoot. 

When  they  were  gone  he  went  to 
the  place  where  they  had  begun  their 
play.  Here  was  one  track;  where 
was  the  next  ?  He  looked  all  around 
and  was  surprised  to  see  a  blank  for 
fifteen  feet ;  and  then  another  blank, 
and  on  farther,  another:  then  the 
blanks  increased  to  eighteen  feet, 
then  to  twenty,  then  to  twenty-five 
and  sometimes  thirty  feet.  Each 
of  these  playful,  effortless  bounds 
covered  a  space  of  eighteen  to  thirty 
feet* 


Gods  above !  They  do  not  run  at 
all,  they  fly ;  and  once  in  a  while 
come  down  again  to  tap  the  hill-tops 
with  their  dainty  hoofs. 

"Pm  glad  they  got  away/'  said 
Yan.  "They've  shown  me  some- 
thing to-day  that  never  man  saw 
before.  I  know  that  no  one  else  has 
ever  seen  it,  or  he  would  have  told 
of  it" 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE   SANDHILL  STAG 


ii 


[ET  when  the  morning 
came  the  old  wolfish 
instinct  was.  back  in 
his  heart*  "I  must 
away  to  the  hills/'  he 
said,  "take  up  the  trail,  and  be  a 
beast  of  the  chase  once  more;  my 
wits  against  their  wits ;  my  strength 
against  their  strength;  and  against 
their  speed,  my  gun." 

Oh !  those  glorious  hills — an  end- 
less rolling  stretch  of  sandy  dunes, 

with  lakes  and  woods  and  grassy 
26 


lawns  between.  Life — life  on  every 
side,  and  life  within,  for  Yan  was 
young  and  strong  and  joyed  in  pow- 
ers complete.  "  These  are  the  best 
days  of  my  life,"  he  said,  "  these  are 
my  golden  days."  He  thought  it 
then,  and  oh,  how  well  he  came  to 
know  it  in  the  after  years ! 

All  day  at  a  long  wolf-lope  he 
would  go  and  send  the  white  hare 
and  the  partridge  flying  from  his 
path,  and  swing  along  and  scan  the 
ground  for  sign  and  the  telltale  in- 
script  in  the  snow,  the  oldest  of  all 
writing,  more  thrillful  of  interest  by 
far  than  the  finest  glyph  or  scarab 
that  ever  Egypt  gave  to  modern  day* 

But  the  driving  snow  was  the 

wild  deer's  friend,  as  the  driven  snow 
27 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE    SANDHILL  STAG 


was  his  foe,  and  down  it  came  that 
day  and  wiped  out  every  trace* 

The  next  day  and  the  next  still 
found  Yan  careering  in  the  hills,  but 
never  a  track  or  sign  did  he  see*  And 
the  weeks  went  by,  and  many  a  roll- 
ing mile  he  ran,  and  many  a  bitter 
day  and  freezing  night  he  passed  in 
the  snow-clad  hills,  sometimes  on  a 
deer-trail  but  more  often  without; 
sometimes  in  the  barren  hills,  and 
sometimes  led  by  woodmen's  talk  to 
far-off  sheltering  woods,  and  once  or 
twice  he  saw  indeed  the  buff- white 
bannerets  go  floating  up  the  hills. 
Sometimes  reports  came  of  a  great 
buck  that  frequented  the  timber-lands 
near  the  sawmill,  and  more  than 

once  Yan  found  his  trail,  but  never 
28 


got  a  glimpse  of  him ;  and  the  few 
deer  there  were  now  grew  so  wild 
with  long  pursuit  that  he  had  no 
further  chances  to  shoot,  and  the 
hunting  season  passed  in  one  long 
train  of  failures. 

Bright,  unsad  failures  they*  He 
seemed  indeed  to  come  back  empty- 
handed,  but  he  really  came  home 
laden  with  the  best  spoils  of  the 
chase,  and  he  knew  it  more  and 
more,  as  time  went  on,  till  every 
day,  at  last,  on  the  clear  unending 
trail,  was  a  glad  triumphant  march. 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE   SANDHILL 


STAG 

I^^MM^^^ 


III 


THE    year 
Another  sea- 
andYanfelt 
the  hunter 
more*  Even 
the  talk  he 
have  set  him 


went  by* 
son  came, 
in  his  heart 
fret  once 
had  he  not, 
heard  would 

all  afire* 


It  told  of  a  mighty  buck  that  now 
lived  in  the  hills  —  the  Sandhill  Stag 
they  called  him*  It  told  of  his  size, 
his  speed,  and  the  crowning  glory 
that  he  bore  on  his  brow,  a  marvel- 
lous growth  like  sculptured  bronze 
with  gleaming  ivory  points* 


So  when  the  first  tracking  snow 
came,  Yan  set  out  with  some  com- 
rades who  had  caught  a  faint  re- 
flected glow  of  his  ardor*  They 
drove  in  a  sleigh  to  the  Spruce  Hill, 
then  scattered  to  meet  again  at  sun- 
set* The  woods  about  abounded  in 
hares  and  grouse,  and  the  powder 
burned  all  around*  But  no  deer- 
track  was  to  be  found,  so  Yan 
quietly  left  the  woods  and  set  off 
alone  for  Kennedy's  Plain,  where 
last  this  wonderful  buck  had  been 
seen* 

After  a  few  miles  he  came  on  a 
great  deer-track,  so  large  and  sharp 
and  broken  by  such  mighty  bounds 
that  he  knew  it  at  once  for  the  trail 
of  the  Sandhill  Stag* 
31 


/i 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SANDHILL  STAG 


With  a  sudden  rush  of  strength 
to  his  limbs  he  led  away  like  a  wolf 
on  the  trail*  And  down  his  spine 
and  in  his  hair  he  felt  as  before,  and 
yet  as  never  before,  the  strange 
prickling  that  he  knew  was  the  same 
as  makes  the  wolf's  mane  bristle 
when  he  hunts*  He  followed  till 
night  was  near  and  he  must  needs 
turn,  for  the  Spruce  Hill  was  many 
miles  away* 

He  knew  that  it  would  be  long 
after  sunset  before  he  could  get  there* 
and  he  scarcely  expected  that  his 
comrades  would  wait  for  him*  but 
he  did  not  care;  he  gloried  in  the 
independence  of  his  strength*  for  his 
legs  were  like  iron  and  his  wind 
was  like  a  hound's*  Ten  miles 
32 


were  no  more  to  him  than  a  mile 
to  another  man,  for  he  could  run 
all  day  and  come  home  fresh,  and 
always  when  alone  in  the  lone 
hills  he  felt  within  so  glad  a  gush 
of  wild  exhilaration  that  his  joy  was 
full 

So  when  his  friends,  feeling  sure 
that  he  could  take  care  of  himself, 
drove  home  and  left  him,  he  was 
glad  to  be  left.  They  seemed  rather 
to  pity  him  for  imposing  on  himself 
such  long,  toilsome  tramps.  They 
had  no  realization  of  what  he  found 
in  those  wind-swept  hills.  They 
never  once  thought  what  they  and 
all  their  friends  and  every  man  that 
ever  lived  has  striven  for  and  offered 
his  body,  his  brain,  his  freedom,  and 

33 


THE  TRAIL  OP  THE   SANDHILL  STAG 


his  life  to  buy;  what  they  were 
vainly  wearing  out  their  lives  in 
fearful,  hopeless  drudgery  to  gain, 
that  boy  was  daily  finding  in  those 
hills*  The  bitter,  biting,  blizzard 
wind  was  without,  but  the  fire  of 
health  and  youth  was  within;  and 
at  every  stride  in  his  daily  march,  it 
was  happiness  he  found,  and  he 
knew  it*  And  he  smiled  such  a 
gentle  smile  when  he  thought  of 
those  driven  home  in  the  sleigh 
shivering  and  miserable,  yet  pitying 
him. 

Oh,  what  a  glorious  sunset  he 
saw  that  day  on  Kennedy's  Plain, 
with  the  snow  dyed  red  and  the  pop- 
lar woods  aglow  in  pink  and  gold ! 
What  a  glorious  tramp  through  the 

34 


darkening  woods  as  the  shadows 
fell  and  the  yellow  moon  came  up ! 

44  These  are  the  best  days  of  my 
life,"  he  sang*  "  These  are  my 
golden  days!" 

And  as  he  neared  the  great  Spruce 
Hill,  Van  yelled  a  long  hurrah !  « In 
case  they  are  still  there,"  he  told 
himself,  but  really  for  very  joy  of 
feeling  all  alive. 

As  he  listened  for  the  improbable 
response,  he  heard  a  faint  howling 
of  wolves  away  over  Kennedy's 
Plain.  He  mimicked  their  cry  and 
quickly  got  response,  and  noticed 
that  they  were  gathering  together, 
doubtless  hunting  something,  for  now 
it  was  their  hunting-cry*  Nearer 
and  nearer  it  came,  and  his  howls 

35 


TRAIL  OF  THE    SANDHILL  STAG 


brought  ready  answers  from  the 
gloomy  echoing  woods,  when  sud- 
denly it  flashed  upon  him:  "It's  my 
trail  you  are  on*  You  are  hunting  me" 
The  road  now  led  across  a  little 
open  plain.  It  would  have  been 
madness  to  climb  a  tree  in  such  a 
fearful  frost,  so  he  went  out  to  the 
middle  of  the  open  place  and  sat 
down  in  the  moonlit  snow — a  glit- 
tering rifle  in  his  hands,  a  row  of 
shining  brass  pegs  in  his  belt,  and  a 
strange,  new  feeling  in  his  heart*  On 
came  the  chorus,  a  deep,  melodious 
howling,  on  to  the  very  edge  of  the 
woods,  and  there  the  note  changed* 
Then  there  was  silence*  They  must 
have  seen  him  sitting  there,  for  the 

light  was  like  day,  but  they  went 
36 


around  in  the  edge  of  the  woods.  A 
stick  snapped  to  the  right  and  a  low 
'  Woof '  came  from  the  left  Then 
all  was  still.  Yan  felt  them  sneak- 
ing around,  felt  them  watching  him 
from  the  cover,  and  strained  his  eyes 
in  vain  to  see  some  form  that  he 
might  shoot.  But  they  were  wise, 
and  he  was  wise,  for  had  he  run  he 
would  soon  have  seen  them  closing 
in  on  him.  They  must  have  been 
but  few,  for  after  their  council  of  war 
they  decided  he  was  better  let  alone, 
and  he  never  saw  them  at  all.  For 
twenty  minutes  he  waited,  but 
hearing  no  more  of  them,  arose  and 
went  homeward.  And  as  he  tramped 
he  thought,  "Now  I  know  how  a 
deer  feels  when  the  grind  of  a  moc- 

39 


X" 

/ 


/, 

«<• 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE    SANDHILL  STAG 


casined  foot  or  the  click  of  a  lock  is 
heard  in  the  trail  behind  him." 

In  the  days  that  followed  he 
learned  those  Sandhills  well,  for 
many  a  frosty  day  and  bitter  night 
he  spent  in  them.  He  learned  to 
follow  fast  the  faintest  trail  of  deer. 
He  learned  just  why  that  trail  went 
never  past  a  tamarack-tree,  and  why 
it  pawed  the  snow  at  every  oak, 
and  why  the  buck's  is  plainest  and 
the  fawn's  down  wind.  He  learned 
Just  what  the  club-rush  has  to  say, 
when  its  tussocks  break  the  snow. 
He  came  to  know  how  the  musk-rat 
lives  beneath  the  ice,  and  why  the 
mink  slides  down  a  hill,  and  what 
the  ice  says  when  it  screams  at 

night.      The  squirrels  taught  him 
40 


how  best  a  fir-cone  can  be  stripped 
and  which  of  toadstools  one  might 
eat.  The  partridge,  why  it  dives 
beneath  the  snow,  and  the  fox,  just 
why  he  sets  his  feet  so  straight,  and 
why  he  wears  so  huge  a  taiL 

He  learned  the  ponds,  the  woods, 
the  hills,  and  a  hundred  secrets  of  the 
trail,  but  —  he  got  no  deer. 

And  though  many  a  score  of  crook- 
ed frosty  miles  he  coursed,  and  some- 
times had  a  track  to  lead  and  some- 
times none,  he  still  went  on,  like 
Galahad  when  the  Grail  was  just 
before  him.  For  more  than  once, 
the  guide  that  led  was  the  trail  of 
the  Sandhill  Stag* 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE   SANDHILL  STAG 


IV 

[HE  hunt  was  nearly 
over,  for  the  season's 
end  was  nigh*  The 
moose-birds  had  pick- 
ed the  last  of  the  sas- 
katoons, all  the  spruce-cones  were 
scaled,  and  the  hunger-moon  was  at 
hand*  But  a  hopeful  chickadee  sang 
4 See  soon  as  Yan  set  off  one  frosty 
day  for  the  great  Spruce  Woods* 
On  the  road  he  overtook  a  wood- 
cutter, who  told  him  that  at  such  a 
place  he  had  seen  two  deer  last 


night,  a  doe  and  a  monstrous  stag 
with  "  a  rocking-chair  on  his  head." 

Straight  to  the  very  place  went 
Yan,  and  found  the  tracks  —  one 
like  those  he  had  seen  in  the  mud 
long  ago,  another  a  large  unmistak- 
able print,  the  mark  of  the  Sandhill 
Stag. 

How  the  wild  beast  in  his  heart 
did  ramp — he  wanted  to  howl  like  a 
wolf  on  a  hot  scent ;  and  away  they 
went  through  woods  and  hills,  the 
trail  and  Yan  and  the  inner  wolf* 

All  day  he  followed  and,  grown 
crafty  himself,  remarked  each  sign, 
and  rejoiced  to  find  that  nowhere 
had  the  deer  been  bounding.  And 
when  the  sun  was  low  the  sign  was 
warm,  so  laying  aside  unneeded 

43 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SANDHILL  STAG 


things,  Yan  crawled  along  like  a 
snake  on  the  track  of  a  hare.  All 
day  the  animals  had  zigzagged  as 
they  fed ;  their  drink  was  snow,  and 
now  at  length  away  across  a  lawn 
in  a  bank  of  brush  Yan  spied  a  some- 
thing flash.  A  bird  perhaps ;  he  lay 
still  and  watched.  Then  gray  among 
the  gray  brush,  he  made  out  a  great 
log,  and  from  one  end  of  it  rose  two 
gnarled  oaken  boughs.  Again  the 
flash  —  the  move  of  a  restless  ear, 
then  the  oak  boughs  moved  and  Yan 
trembled,  for  he  knew  that  the  log 
in  the  brush  was  the  form  of  the 
Sandhill  Stag.  So  grand,  so  charged 
with  life.  He  seemed  a  precious, 
sacred  thing  —  a  king,  fur-robed  < 
and  duly  crowned.  To  think  of 


shooting  now  as  he  lay  unconscious, 
resting,  seemed  an  awful  crime.  But 
Yan  for  weeks  and  months  had  pined 
for  this*  His  chance  had  come,  and 
shoot  he  must.  The  long,  long 
strain  grew  tighter  yet  —  grew  taut 
-  broke  down,  as  up  the  rifle  went. 
But  the  wretched  thing  kept  wab- 
bling and  pointing  all  about  the  little 
glade.  His  breath  came  hot  and 
fast  and  choking  —  so  much,  so  very 
much,  so  clearly  all,  hung  on  a 
single  touch.  He  laid  the  rifle  down, 
revulsed  —  and  trembled  in  the  snow. 
But  he  soon  regained  the  mastery, 
his  hand  was  steady  now,  the  sights 
in  line  —  'twas  but  a  deer  out  yon- 
der. But  at  that  moment  the  Stag 
turned  full  Yan's  way,  with  those 

45 


( 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SANDHILL 


regardful  eyes  and  ears,  and  nostrils 
too,  and  gazed. 

44  Darest  thou  slay  me  ?  "  said  an 
uncrowned,  unarmed  king  once,  as 
his  eyes  fell  on  the  assassin's  knife, 
and  in  that  clear,  calm  gaze  the  mur- 
derer quailed  and  cowed* 

So  trembled  Yan ;  but  he  knew  it 
was  only  stag-fever,  and  he  despised 
it  then  as  he  came  in  time  to  honor 
it;  and  the  beast  that  dwelt  within 
him  fired  the  gun. 

The  ball  splashed  short.  The 
buck  sprang  up  and  the  doe  appeared. 
Another  shot ;  then,  as  they  fled,  an- 
other and  another.  But  away  the 
deer  went,  lightly  drifting  across  the 
low  round  hills. 


46 


IE  followed  their  trail  for  / 

some  time,  but  gnashed  K 

his  teeth  to  find  no  sign  \.t       x 

of  blood,  and  he  burned          >  y 

with  a  raging  animal 
sense  that  was  neither  love  nor  hate. 
Within  a  mile  there  was  a  new  sign  1 

that  joined  on  and  filled  him  with          % 
another  rage  and  shed  light  on  many  v 

a  bloody  page  of  frontier  history — a  V 

moccasin-track,  a  straight-set,  broad-  * 

toed,  moosehide  track,  the  track  of  a  , 

Cree  brave.    He  followed  in  savage 
humor,  and  as  he  careered  up  a  slope  Iff 

47  »    '*    V 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SANDHILL  STAG 


D 


a  tall  form  rose  from  a  log,  raising 
one  hand  in  peaceable  gesture.  Al- 
though Yan  was  behind,  the  Indian 
had  seen  him  first. 

"Who  are  you?"  said  Yan, 
roughly. 

"Chaska." 

"What  are  you  doing  in  my 
country?" 

"  It  was  my  country  first,"  he  re- 
plied gravely. 

44  Those  are  my  deer,"  Yan  said, 
and  thought. 

"  No  man  owns  wild  deer  till  he 
kills  them,"  said  Chaska. 

44  You  better  keep  off  any  trail  Fm 
following." 

44  Not  afraid,"  said  he,  and  made 

a  gesture  to  include  the  whole  set- 
48 


tlement,  then  added  gently,  "No 
good  to  fight ;  the  best  man  will  get 
the  most  deer  anyhow*" 

And  the  end  of  it  was  that  Yan 
stayed  for  several  days  with  Chaska, 
and  got,  not  an  antlered  buck  indeed, 
but,  better  far,  an  insight  into  the 
ways  of  a  man  who  could  hunt* 
The  Indian  taught  him  not  to  follow 
the  trail  over  the  hills,  for  deer  watch 
their  back  track,  and  cross  the  hills 
to  make  this  more  easy*  He  taught 
him  to  tell  by  touch  and  smell  of 
sign  just  how  far  ahead  they  are,  as 
well  as  the  size  and  condition  of  the 
deer,  and  not  to  trail  closely  when 
the  game  is  near*  He  taught  him 
to  study  the  wind  by  raising  his 
moistened  finger  in  the  air,  and  Yan 

49 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE   SANDHILL  STAG 


thought, "  Now  I  know  why  a  deer's 
nose  is  always  moist,  for  he  must 
always  watch  the  wind."  He 
showed  Yan  how  much  may  be 
gained  at  times  by  patient  waiting, 
and  that  it  is  better  to  tread  like  an 
Indian  with  foot  set  straight,  for 
thereby  one  gains  an  inch  or  two  at 
each  stride  and  can  come  back  in 
one's  own  track  through  deep  snow. 
And  he  also  unwittingly  taught  him 
that  an  Indian  cannot  shoot  with  a 
rifle,  and  Natty  Bumpo's  adage  came 
to  mind,  "A  white  man  can  shoot 
with  a  gun,  but  it  ain't  accordin'  to 
an  Injun's  gifts/' 

Sometimes  they  went  out  together 
and    sometimes   singly.    One  day, 

while  out  alone,  Yan  had  followed 
50 


s) 


a  deer-track  into  a  thicket  by  what 
is  now  called  Chaska  Lake.  The 
sign  was  fresh,  and  as  he  sneaked 
around  there  was  a  rustle  in  the 
brush.  Then  he  saw  the  kinni- 
fcinnick  boughs  shaking.  His  gun 
flew  up  and  covered  the  spot.  As 
soon  as  he  was  sure  of  the  place  he 
meant  to  fire.  But  when  he  saw 
the  creature  as  a  dusky  moving  form 
through  the  twigs,  he  awaited  a  bet- 
ter view,  which  came,  and  he  had 
almost  pulled  the  trigger  when  his 
hand  was  stayed  by  a  glimpse  of 
red,  and  a  moment  later  out  stepped 
—  Chaska. 

"  Chaska/'  Yan  gasped, "  1  nearly 
did  for  you." 

For  reply  the   Indian  drew  his 
5* 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SANDHILL  STAG 


finger  across  the  red  handkerchief  on 
his  brow*  Yan  knew  then  one  rea- 
son why  a  hunting  Indian  always 
wears  it;  after  that  he  wore  one 
himself* 

One  day  a  flock  of  prairie-chickens 
flew  high  overhead  toward  the  thick 
Spruce  Woods*  Others  followed, 
and  it  seemed  to  be  a  general  move* 
Chaska  looked  toward  them  and 
said,  "Chickens  go  hide  in  bush* 
Blizzard  to-night*" 

It  surely  came,  and  the  hunters 
stayed  all  day  by  the  fire*  Next 
day  it  was  as  fierce  as  ever*  On 
the  third  day  it  ceased  somewhat, 
and  they  hunted  again*  But  Chaska 
returned  with  his  gun  broken  by  a  fall, 

and  after  a  long  silent  smoke  he  said : 
52 


44  Yan  hunt  in  Moose  Mountain  ?" 

"No!" 

"Good  hunting.    Go?" 

Yan  shook  his  head* 

Presently  the  Indian,  glancing  to 
theeastward,said,"Sioux  tracks  there 
to-day.  All  bad  medicine  here."  And 
Yan  knew  that  his  mind  was  made 
up.  He  went  away  and  they  never 
met  again,  and  all  that  is  left  of  him 
now  is  his  name,  borne  by  the  lonely 
lake  that  lies  in  the  Carberry  Hills. 

53 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SANDHILL  STAG 


VI 


[HERE  are  more  deer 
round  Carberry  now 
than  ever  before,  and 
the  Big  Stag  has  been 
seen  between  Ken- 
nedy's Plain  and  the  mill/'  So  said 
a  note  that  reached  Yan  away  in 
the  East,  where  he  had  been  chafing 
in  a  new  and  distasteful  life*  It  was 
the  beginning  of  the  hunting  season, 
the  fret  was  already  in  his  blood,  and 
that  letter  decided  him*  For  a  while 
the  iron  horse,  for  a  while  the  gentle 
horse,  then  he  donned  his  moosehide 

54 


wings  and  flew  as  of  old  on  many  a 
longt  hard  flight,  to  return  as  so  often 
before* 

Then  he  heard  that  at  a  certain 
lake  far  to  the  eastward  seven  deer 
had  been  seen ;  their  leader  a  won- 
derful buck. 

With  three  others  he  set  out  in  a 
sleigh  to  the  eastward  lake,  and  soon 
found  the  tracks  —  six  of  various 
sizes  and  one  large  one,  undoubtedly 
that  of  the  famous  Stag* 

How  utterly  the  veneer  was  torn  to 
tatters  by  those  seven  chains  of  tracks ! 
How  completely  the  wild  paleolithic 
beast  stood  revealed  in  each  of  the 
men,  in  spite  of  semi-modern  garb, 
as  they  drove  away  on  the  trail  with 
a  wild,  excited  gleam  in  every  eye ! 

57 


TRAIL  OF  THE  SANDHILL  STAG} 


It  was  nearly  night  before  the  trail 
warmed  up,  but  even  then,  in  spite 
of  Yan's  earnest  protest,  they  drove 
on  in  the  sleigh.  And  soon  they 
came  to  where  the  trail  told  of  seven 
keen  observers  looking  backward 
from  a  hill,  then  an  even  sevenfold 
chain  of  twenty-five-foot  bounds. 
The  hunters  got  no  glimpse  at  all, 
but  followed  till  the  night  came 
down,  then  hastily  camped  in  the 
snow. 

In  the  morning  they  followed  as 
before,  and  soon  came  to  where 
seven  spots  of  black,  bare  ground 
showed  where  the  deer  had  slept. 

Now  when  the  trail  grew  warm 
Yan  insisted  on  hunting  on  foot.  He 

trailed  the  deer  into  a  great  thicket, 
58 


and  knew  just  where  they  were  by 
a  grouse  that  flew  cackling  from  its 
farther  side* 

He  arranged  a  plan,  but  his  friends 
would  not  await  the  blue- jay's  4  all- 
right  '  note,  and  the  deer  escaped* 
But  finding  themselves  hard  pressed* 
they  split  their  band*  two  going  one 
way  and  five  another*  Yan  kept 
with  him  one*  Duff*  and  leaving  the 
others  to  follow  the  five  deer*  he  took 
up  the  twofold  trail*  Why  ?  Because 
in  it  was  the  great  broad  track  he 
had  followed  for  two  years  back* 

On  they  went*  overtaking  the  deer 
and  causing  them  again  to  split* 
Yan  sent  Duff  after  the  doe*  while  he 
stuck  relentlessly  to  the  track  of  the 
famous  Stag*  As  the  sun  got  low, 

59 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE   SANDHILL  STAG 


the  chase  led  to  a  great  half-wooded 
stretch,  in  a  country  new  to  him; 
for  he  had  driven  the  Stag  far  from 
his  ancient  range*  The  trail  again 
grew  hot,  but  just  as  Yan  felt  sure 
he  soon  would  close,  two  distant 
shots  were  heard,  and  the  track  of 
the  Stag  as  he  found  it  then  went 
off  in  a  fear-winged  flight  that  might 
keep  on  for  miles. 

Yan  went  at  a  run,  and  soon  found 
Duff*  He  had  had  two  long  shots 
at  the  doe*  The  second  he  thought 
had  hit  her*  Within  half  a  mile 
they  found  blood  on  the  trail;  within 
another  half-mile  the  blood  was  no 
more  seen  and  the  track  seemed  to 
have  grown  very  large  and  strong* 

The  snow   was   drifting   and    the 
60 


marks  not  easily  read,  yet  Yan  knew 
very  soon  that  the  track  they  were 
on  was  not  that  of  the  wounded  doe, 
but  was  surely  that  of  her  antlered 
mate*  Back  on  the  trail  they  ran 
till  they  solved  the  doubt,  for  there 
they  learned  that  the  Stag,  after 
making  his  own  escape,  had  come 
back  to  change  off :  an  old,  old  trick 
of  the  hunted  whereby  one  deer  will 
cleverly  join  on  and  carry  on  the  line 
of  tracks  to  save  another  that  is  too 
hard  pressed,  while  it  leaps  aside  to 
hide  or  fly  in  a  different  direction* 
Thus  the  Stag  had  sought  to  save 
his  wounded  mate,  but  the  hunters 
remorselessly  took  up  her  trail  and 
gloated  like  wolves  over  the  slight 
drip  of  blood*  Within  another  short 

61 


r  (Ul 

.i  t       * 

}   z  ^'V' 

*  ^/! 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SANDHILL  STAG 


run  they  found  that  the  Stag,  having 
failed  to  divert  the  chase  to  himself, 
had  returned  to  her,  and  at  sundown 
they  sighted  them  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
ahead  mounting  a  long  snow-slope* 
The  doe  was  walking  slowly,  with 
hanging  head  and  ears.  The  buck 
was  running  about  as  though  in 
trouble  that  he  did  not  understand, 
and  coming  back  to  caress  the  doe 
and  wonder  why  she  walked  so 
slowly.  In  another  half-mile  the 
hunters  came  up  with  them*  She 
was  down  in  the  snow*  When 
he  saw  them  coming,  the  great 
Stag  shook  the  oak-tree  on  his 
brow  and  circled  about  in  doubt, 
then  fled  from  a  foe  he  was  power- 
less to  resist* 

62 


As  the  men  came  near  the  doe 
made  a  convulsive  effort  to  rise,  but 
could  not.  Duff  drew  his  knife*  It 
never  before  occurred  to  Yan  why 
he  and  each  of  them  carried  a  long 
knife*  The  poor  doe  turned  on  her 
foes  her  great  lustrous  eyes;  they 
were  brimming  with  tears,  but  she 
made  no  moan.  Yan  turned  his 
back  on  the  scene  and  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands,  but  Duff  went 
forward  with  the  knife  and  did  some 
dreadful,  unspeakable  thing,  Yan 
scarcely  knew  what,  and  when  Duff 
called  him  he  slowly  turned,  and  the 
big  Stag's  mate  was  lying  quiet  in 
the  snow,  and  the  only  living  thing 
that  they  saw  as  they  quit  the  scene 
was  the  great  round  form  bearing 
65 


TRAIL  OF  THE  SANDHILL 


aloft  the  oak-tree  on  its  brow  as  it 
haunted  the  nearer  hills* 

And  when,  an  hour  later,  the  men 
came  with  the  sleigh  to  lift  the  doe's 
body  from  the  crimsoned  snow, 
there  were  large  fresh  tracks  about 
it,  and  a  dark  shadow  passed  over 
the  whitened  hill  into  the  silent  night* 

What  morbid  thoughts  came  from 
the  fire  that  night !  How  the  man 
in  Yan  did  taunt  the  glutted  brute! 
Was  this  the  end?  Was  this  the 
real  chase  ?  After  long  weeks,  with 
the  ideal  alone  in  mind,  after  count- 
less blessed  failures,  was  this  the  vile 
success — a  beautiful,  glorious,  living 
creature  tortured  into  a  loathsome 
mass  of  carrion  ? 

66 


VII 

when  the  morning 
came  the  impress  of  the 
night  was  dim*  Along 
howl  came  over  the 
hill,  and  the  thought 
that  a  wolf  was  on  the  trail  that  he 
was  quitting  smote  sadly  on  Yan's 
heart.  They  all  set  out  for  the  set- 
tlement, but  within  an  hour  Yan 
only  wanted  an  excuse  to  stay.  And 
when  at  length  they  ran  onto  the 
fresh  track  of  the  Sandhill  Stag  him- 
self, the  lad  was  all  ablaze  once 

more. 

67 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE   SANDHILL  STAG 


"I  cannot  go  back  —  something 
tells  me  that  I  must  stay  —  I  must 
see  him  face  to  face  again*" 

The  rest  had  had  enough  of  the 
bitter  frost,  so  Yan  took  from  the 
sleigh  a  small  pot,  a  blanket,  and 
some  food,  and  left  them,  to  follow 
alone  the  great  sharp  imprint  in  the 
snow* 

44  Good-by  —  good  luck!" 

He  watched  the  sleigh  out  of 
sight,  in  the  low  hills,  and  then  felt 
as  he  never  had  before*  Though  he 
had  been  so  many  months  alone  in 
the  wilds,  he  had  never  known  lone- 
liness, but  as  soon  as  his  friends  were 
gone  he  was  overwhelmed  by  a 
sense  of  the  utter  heart-sickening 
dreariness  of  the  endless,  snowy 

68 


waste*  Where  were  the  charms 
that  he  had  never  failed  to  find  until 
now?  He  wanted  to  recall  the 
sleigh,  but  pride  kept  him  silent* 

In  a  little  while  it  was  too  late* 
and  soon  he  was  once  more  in  the 
power  of  that  fascinating,  endless 
chain  of  tracks,  —  a  chain  begun 
years  ago,  when  in  a  June  the  track 
of  a  mother  Blacktail  was  suddenly 
joined  by  two  little  ones'  tracks* 
Since  then  the  three  had  gone  on 
winding  over  the  land  the  trail-chains 
they  were  forging, —  knotted  and 
kinked,  and  twisted  with  every  move 
and  thought  of  the  makers,  imprinted 
with  every  hap  of  their  lives,  but 
interrupted  never  wholly*  At  times 
the  tracks  were  joined  by  that  of 
69 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SANDHILL  STAG 


some  fierce  foe  and  the  kind  of  mark 
was  changed,  but  the  chains  went 
on  for  months  and  years,  now  fast, 
now  slow,  but  endless,  until  some 
foe  more  strong  joined  on  and  there 
one  trail  was  ended*     But  this  great 
Stag  was  forging  still  that  mystic 
chain*    A  million  roods  of  hills  had 
he  overlaid  with  its  links,  had  scrib- 
bled over  in  this  oldest  script  with      •' 
the  story  of  his  life*    If  only  our  eyes 
were  bright  enough  to  follow  up  that 
twenty  thousand  miles  of  trail,  what  ,. 
light  unguessed  we    might   obtain         • 
where  the  wisest  now  are  groping! 
But  skin  deep,  man  is  brute.   Just 
a  little  while  ago  we  were  mere  hunt-      . 
ing  brutes  —  our  bellies  were  our     •' 

only  thought,  that  telltale  line  of  dots     '.'. ' 
70 


was  the  road  to  food*  No  man  can 
follow  it  far  without  feeling  a  wild 
beast  prickling  in  his  hair  and  down 
his  spine*  Away  Yan  went,  a  hunt- 
er-brute once  more,  all  other  feelings 
swamped* 

Late  that  day  the  trail,  after  many 
a  kink  and  seeming  break,  led  into 
a  great  dense  thicket  of  brittle,  quak- 
ing asp*  Yan  knew  that  the  Stag 
was  there  to  lie  at  rest*  The  deer 
went  in  up-wind,  of  course*  His 
eyes  and  ears  would  watch  his  trail, 
and  his  nose  would  guard  in  front, 
so  Yan  went  in  at  one  side,  trusting 
to  get  a  shot*  With  a  very  agony 
of  care  he  made  his  way,  step  by 
step,  and,  after  many  minutes,  surely 
found  the  track,  still  leading  on* 
71 


tTHE  TRAIL  OF  THE    SANDHILL  STAG 


Another  lengthy  crawl,  with  nerves 
at  tense,  and  then  the  lad  thought 
he  heard  a  twig  snapped  behind  him, 
though  the  track  was  still  ahead* 
And  after  long  he  found  it  true* 
Before  lying  down  the  Stag  had 
doubled  back,  and  while  Yan  had 
thought  him  still  ahead,  he  was  ly- 
ing far  behind,  so  had  gotten  wind 
of  the  man  and  now  was  miles 
away* 

Once  more  into  the  unknown 
north  away,  till  cold,  black  night 
came  down ;  then  Yan  sought  out  a 
sheltered  spot  and  made  a  tiny,  red- 
man's  fire*  As  Chaska  had  taught 
him  long  ago — '  Big  fire  for  fool/ 

When  the  lad  curled  up  to  sleep 

he  felt  a  vague  wish  to  turn  three 
72 


times  like  a  dog,  and  a  well-defined 
wish  that  he  had  fur  on  his  face  and 
a  bushy  tail  to  lay  around  his  freez- 
ing hands  and  feet,  for  it  was  a  night 
of  northern  frost.  Old  Peboan  was 
stalking  on  the  snow.  The  stars 
seemed  to  crackle,  so  one  could  al- 
most hear.  The  trees  and  earth 
were  bursting  with  the  awful  frost. 
The  ice  on  a  near  lake  was  rent  all 
night  by  cracks  that  went  whooping 
from  shore  to  shore ;  and  down  be- 
tween the  hills  there  poured  the  cold 
that  burns. 

A  prairie-wolf  came  by  in  the 
night,  but  he  did  not  howl  or  treat 
Yan  like  an  outsider  now.  He  gave 
a  gentle,  doglike  'Woof,  woof,'  a 
sort  of  *  Oho !  so  you  have  come  to 

73 


M 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SANDHILL 


^ 


it  at  last/  and  passed  away*  To- 
ward morning  the  weather  grew 
milder,  but  with  the  change  there 
came  a  driving  snow*  The  track 
was  blotted  out*  Yan  had  heeded 
nothing  else,  and  did  not  know  where 
he  was*  After  travelling  an  aimless 
mile  or  two  he  decided  to  make  for 
Pine  Creek,  which  ought  to  lie  south- 
eastward*  But  which  way  was 
southeast  ?  The  powdery  snow  was 
driven  along  through  the  air,  blind- 
ing, stinging,  burning*  On  all  things 
near  it  was  like  smoke,  and  on  far- 
ther things,  a  driving  fog*  But  he 
made  for  a  quaking  asp  grove,  and 
there,  sticking  through  the  snow,  he 
found  a  crosier  golden-rod,  dead  and 
dry,  but  still  faithfully  delivering  its 

74 


message, 4  Yon  is  the  north/  With 
course  corrected,  on  he  went,  and, 
whenever  in  doubt,  dug  out  this 
compass-flower,  till  the  country 
dipped  and  Pine  Creek  lay  below. 
There  was  good  camping  here, 
the  very  spot  indeed  where,  fifteen 
years  before,  Butler  had  camped  on 
his  Loneland  Journey ;  but  now  the 
blizzard  had  ceased,  so  Yan  spent 
the  day  hunting  without  seeing  a 
track,  and  he  spent  the  night  as  be- 
fore, wishing  that  nature  had  been 
kinder  to  him  in  the  matter  of  fur. 
During  that  first  lone  night  his  face 
and  toes  had  been  frozen  and  now 
bore  burning  sores.  But  still  he 
kept  on  the  chase,  for  something 
within  had  told  him  that  the  Grail 

75 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SANDHILL  STAG 


was  surely  near*  Next  day  a  strange, 
unreasoning  guess  sent  him  east 
across  the  creek  in  a  deerless-looking 
barren  land*  Within  half  a  mile  he 
came  on  dim  tracks  made  lately  in 
the  storm.  He  followed,  and  soon 
found  where  six  deer  had  lain  at 
rest,  and  among  them  a  great,  broad 
bed  and  a  giant  track  that  only  one 
could  have  made*  The  track  was 
almost  fresh,  the  sign  unfrozen  stilL 
"Within  a  mile/'  he  thought*  But 
within  a  hundred  yards  there  loomed 
up  on  a  fog-wrapped  hillside  five 
heads  with  ears  regardant,  and  at  that 
moment,  too,  there  rose  up  from  the 
snowy  top  a  great  form  like  a  blasted 
trunk  with  two  dead  boughs  still  on* 
But  they  had  seen  him  first,  and  be- 

76 


fore  the  deadly  gun  could  play,  six 
beacons  waved  and  a  friendly  hill 
had  screened  them  from  its  power* 

The  Sandhill  Stag  had  gathered 
his  brood  again,  yet  now  that  the 
murderer  was  on  the  track  once 
more,  he  scattered  them  as  before* 
But  there  was  only  one  track  for 
Yan* 

At  last  the  chase  led  away  to  the 
great  dip  of  Pine  Creek  —  a  mile- 
wide  flat,  with  a  long,  dense  thicket 
down  the  middle* 

44  There  is  where  he  is  hiding  and 
watching  now,  but  there  he  will  not 
rest,"  said  the  something  within,  and 
Yan  kept  out  of  sight  and  watched ; 
after  half  an  hour  a  dark  spot  left 
the  willow  belt  and  wandered  up  the 

77 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE    SANDHILL  STAG 


farther  hill.  When  he  was  well  out 
of  sight  over  the  hill  Yan  ran  across 
the  valley  and  stalked  around  to  get 
the  trail  on  the  down-wind  side.  He 
found  it,  and  there  learned  that  the 
Stag  was  as  wise  as  he — he  had 
climbed  a  good  lookout  and  watched 
his  back  trail,  then  seeing  Yan  cross- 
ing the  flat,  his  track  went  swiftly 
bounding,  bounding  — . 

The  Stag  knew  just  how  things 
stood;  a  single  match  to  a  finish 
now,  and  he  led  away  for  a  new 
region.  But  Yan  was  learning 
something  he  had  often  heard — that 
the  swiftest  deer  can  be  run  down 
by  a  hardy  man;  for  he  was  as 
fresh  as  ever,  but  the  great  Stag's 
bounds  were  shortening,  he  was 

78 


"Scanned  the  White  World  for  his  Foe/' 


surely  tiring  out,  he  must  throw  off 
the  hunter  now,  or  he  is  lost* 

He  often  mounted  a  high  hill  to 
scan  the  white  world  for  his  foe,  and 
the  after-trail  was  a  record  of  what 
he  learned  or  feared*  At  last  his 
trail  came  to  a  sudden  end.  This 
was  a  mystery  until  long  study 
showed  how  he  had  returned  back- 
ward on  his  own  track  for  a  hun- 
dred yards,  then  bounded  aside  to  fly 
in  another  direction*  Three  times 
he  did  this,  and  then  passed  through 
an  aspen  thicket  and,  returning,  lay 
down  in  this  thicket  near  his  own 
track,  so  that  in  following,  Yan  must 
pass  where  the  Stag  could  smell  and 
hear  him  long  before  the  trail 
brought  the  hunter  over-close* 

81 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SANDHILL  STAG 


All  these  doublings  and  many  more 
like  them  were  patiently  unravelled 
and  the  shortening  bounds  were 
straightened  out  once  more  till,  as 
daylight  waned,  the  tracks  seemed 
to  grow  stale  and  the  bounds  again 
grow  long*  After  a  little,  Yan  be- 
came wholly  puzzled,  so  he  stop- 
ped right  there  and  spent  another 
wretched  night*  Next  day  at  dawn 
he  worked  it  out* 

He  found  he  had  been  running 
the  trail  he  had  already  run*  With 
a  long  hark-back,  the  doubt  was 
cleared*  The  desperate  Stag  had 
joined  onto  his  old  track  and  bounded 
aside  at  length  to  let  the  hunter  fol- 
low the  cold  scent*  But  the  join-on 

was  found  and  the  real  trail  read, 
82 


and"  the  tale  that  it  told  was  of  a 
great  Stag  wearing  out,  too  tired  to 
eat,  too  scared  to  sleep,  with  a  tire- 
less hunter  after* 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE    SANDHILL  STAG 


VIII 

LAST  long  follow 
brought  the  hunt 
back  to  familiar 
ground  —  a  marsh- 
encompassed  tract 
of  woods  with  three  ways  in* 
There  was  the  deer's  trail  entering. 
Yan  felt  he  would  not  come  out 
there,  for  he  knew  his  foe  was  fol- 
lowing* So  swiftly  and  silently  the 
hunter  made  for  the  second  road  on 
the  down-wind  side,  and  having 
hung  his  coat  and  sash  there  on 

a  swaying  sapling,  he  hastened  to 
84 


/  X 

the  third  way  out,  and  hid*    After  *  ' 

a  while,  seeing  nothing,  Yan  gave 
the  low  call  that  the  jaybird  gives 
when  there's  danger  abroad  in  the 
woods* 

All  deer  take  guidance  from  the 
jay,  and  away  off  in  the  encom- 
passed woods  Yan  saw  the  great 
Stag  with  wavering  ears  go  up  a 
high  lookout.  A  low  whistle  turned 
him  to  a  statue,  but  he  was  far  away 
with  many  a  twig  between*  For 
some  seconds  he  stood  sniffing  the 
wind  and  gazing  with  his  back  to 
his  foe,  watching  the  back  trail, 
where  so  long  his  enemy  had  been, 
but  never  dreaming  of  that  enemy  in 
ambush  ahead*  Then  the  breeze 

set  the  coat  on  the  sapling  a-flutter- 
85 


TRAIL  OF  THE  SANDHILL  STAG 


J 


ing*  The  Stag  quickly  quit  the 
hillock,  not  leaping  or  crashing 
through  the  brush,  —  he  had  years 
ago  got  past  that,  —  but  silent  and 
weasel-like  threading  the  maze,  he 
disappeared*  Yan  crouched  in  the 
willow  thicket  and  strained  his  every 
sense  and  tried  to  train  his  ears  for 
keener  watching*  A  twig  ticked  in 
the  copse  that  he  was  in*  Yan  slowly 
rose  with  nerve  and  sense  at  tightest 
tense,  the  gun  in  line  —  and  as  he 
rose,  there  also  rose,  but  fifteen  feet 
away,  a  wondrous  pair  of  bronze 
and  ivory  horns,  a  royal  head,  a 
noble  form  behind  it,  and  face  to  face 
they  stood,  Yan  and  the  Sandhill 
Stag*  At  last  —  at  last,  his  life  was 
in  Yan's  hands*  The  Stag  flinched 


86 


not,  but  stood  and  gazed  with  those 
great  ears  and  mournful,  truthful 
eyes,  and  the  rifle  leaped  but  sank 
again,  for  the  Stag  stood  still  and 
calmly  looked  him  in  the  eyes,  and 
Yan  felt  the  prickling  fading  from 
his  scalp,  his  clenched  teeth  eased, 
his  limbs,  bent  as  to  spring,  relaxed 
and  manlike  stood  erect* 

'Shoot,  shoot,  shoot  now!  This 
is  Vtihat  you  have  toiled  for/  said  a 
faint  and  fading  voice,  and  spoke  no 
more* 

But  Yan  remembered  the  night 
when  he,  himself  run  down,  had 
turned  to  face  the  hunting  wolves,  he 
remembered  too  that  night  when  the 
snow  was  red  with  crime,  and  now 
between  him  and  the  other  there  he 
87 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE   SANDHILL  STAG 


dimly  saw  a  vision  of  an  agonizing, 
dying  doe,  with  great,  sad  eyes,  that 
only  asked,  *  What  harm  have  I  done 
you?'  A  change  came  over  him, 
and  every  thought  of  murder  went 
from  Yan  as  they  gazed  into  each 
other's  eyes  —  and  hearts*  Yan 
could  not  look  him  in  the  eyes  and 
take  his  life,  and  different  thoughts 
and  a  wholly  different  concept  of  the 
Stag,  coming — coming  —  long  com- 
ing—  had  come* 


H,  beautiful  creature !  One 
of  our  wise  men  has  said, 
the  body  is  the  soul  made 
visible ;  is  your  spirit  then  so  beau- 
tiful—  as  beautiful  as  wise?  We 

88 


have  long  stood  as  foes,  hunter  and 
hunted,  but  now  that  is  changed 
and  we  stand  face  to  face,  fellow- 
creatures  looking  in  each  other's 
eyes,  not  knowing  each  other's 
speech  —  but  knowing  motives  and 
feelings.  Now  I  understand  you  as 
I  never  did  before;  surely  you  at 
least  in  part  understand  me*  For 
your  life  is  at  last  in  my  power,  yet 
you  have  no  fear*  I  knew  of  a  deer 
once,  that,  run  down  by  the  hounds, 
sought  safety  with  the  hunter,  and 
he  saved  it  —  and  you  also  I  have 
run  down  and  you  boldly  seek  safety 
with  me.  Yes !  you  are  as  wise  as 
you  are  beautiful,  for  I  will  never 
harm  a  hair  of  you.  We  are  brothers, 
oh,  bounding  Blacktail !  only  I  am 
91 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE    SANDHILL  STAG 


the  elder  and  stronger,  and  if  only 
my  strength  could  always  be  at  hand 
to  save  you,  you  would  never  come 
to  harm*  Go  now,  without  fear,  to 
range  the  piney  hills;  never  more 
shall  I  follow  your  trail  with  the 
wild  wolf  rampant  in  my  heart* 
Less  and  less  as  I  grow  do  I  see 
in  your  race  mere  flying  marks,  or 
butcher-meat*  We  have  grown, 
Little  Brother,  and  learned  many 
things  that  you  know  not,  but  you 
have  many  a  precious  sense  that  is 
wholly  hidden  from  us*  Go  now 
without  fear  of  me* 

44 1  may  never  see  you  again*  But 
if  only  you  would  come  sometimes 
and  look  me  in  the  eyes  and  make 

me  feel  as  you  have  done  to-day,  you 

92 


would  drive  the  wild  beast  wholly 
from  my  heart,  and  then  the  veil 
would  be  a  little  drawn  and  I  should 
know  more  of  the  things  that  wise 
men  have  prayed  for  knowledge 
of.  And  yet  I  feel  it  never  will  be — I 
have  found  the  GraiL  I  have  learned 
what  Buddha  learned*  I  shall  never 
see  you  again.  Farewell." 


93 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


RENEWED  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  IMMEDIATE 
RECALL 


JCD 


DUE  JAN  3 


LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-50m-12,'64(F772s4)458 


371079 

QL795 
Seton,  E.T. 

The  trail  of  the        S£ 
sandhill  stag. 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF   CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


